


Rank Hath Its Privileges

by imaginary_golux



Series: Dare Mighty Things [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Sharing a Bed, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: Poe is undercover with the First Order, making good progress on his duties to the Resistance, but one of the privileges that officers in the First Order are expected to take advantage of is that of claiming a Stormtrooper for their bed.FN-2187 knows he shouldn't have met the officer's eyes. Being chosen by an officer is the easiest way for a Stormtrooper to die.Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	1. Chapter 1

Being an officer in the First Order comes with certain privileges, but it also comes with the expectation that officers will _use_ those privileges - another avenue of control, another way to make sure that officers are just as bound and caged as the faceless soldiers they command. Poe is skirting unhealthily close to the edge of the point where it will start to look very strange that he is not exercising his privileges. Even General Hux, who is acknowledged to be a workaholic to a truly worrisome degree, takes advantage of the privileges his high rank brings him. Poe has been able to put this off for a little while with the excuse that he is spending every waking moment whipping the TIE fighter corps into shape, but that shield has begun to wear thin.

So here he is, standing in the Stormtrooper mess hall, looking down the rows of identical white armor and oddly helmetless heads, as the Stormtroopers eat their protein bars and studiously ignore him. Well, not _ignore_ \- they all know he's there. But they all know _why_ he's there, too, and Stormtroopers all know the most important rule about officers: don't get noticed.

Poe moves down one of the rows, eye caught by a young Stormtrooper who looks almost scrawny - Poe didn't know there _were_ scrawny Stormtroopers - and the 'trooper next to the scrawny one looks up with something like defiance in his eyes. Like he wants to protect his companion. He actually looks Poe full in the face, and Poe doesn't think he knows how much Poe can read in his expression: defiance and despair and banked, helpless rage.

Also, he's the single most beautiful young man Poe has ever seen, with stunning features and great dark eyes a man could drown in. Poe was not expecting to find such glory here, among the faceless weapons of his enemy.

So he taps the defiant one on the shoulder, just as he was told is protocol, and says, "You. Attend me in my quarters after third meal."

"Yes, sir," says the beautiful Stormtrooper, and Poe nods and turns crisply on his heel and strides out of the mess hall.

Phasma stops him briefly in the doorway, with what Poe expects is a curt nod behind that gleaming helmet. "FN-2187 is the best of his class," she says quietly. "It would please me if you did not damage him."

Phasma may be only a captain of Stormtroopers, but no one on the Finalizer is blind to how much power she holds. If an officer dies "accidentally" at her hands, there will be little investigation. Poe nods firmly to her.

"My tastes do not run in that direction," he says, and Phasma nods again and steps back to let him pass.

The best of his class, good enough for Phasma to want to protect him. Defiant, despairing, protective. The most beautiful man Poe has ever seen. This Stormtrooper grows more intriguing by the minute, and Poe finds himself very nearly looking forward to the coming night.

*

FN-2187 is not looking forward to the coming sleep shift. He knew - he _knew_ \- that he should not look up, should not met the officer’s eyes, should let Slip be chosen if that’s what the officer wanted, and he couldn’t do it.

And for his foolishness he has earned the expected consequences.

Every ‘trooper knows that being picked by an officer is _bad_. Some ‘troopers don’t come back from it; others come back damaged, some badly enough that they get sent to _medbay_. No ‘trooper wants to be sent to medbay, because there’s always the chance the docdroids will decide the ‘trooper is too badly damaged to fight or to bother repairing, and then there’s one fewer ‘trooper in the ranks and some more spare armor in the armory.

Still other ‘troopers come back with this - look. FN-2187 can’t describe it, but all of the ‘troopers know it when they see it over the mess hall table or in the showers. It’s not a good look. ‘Troopers with that look, they aren’t expected to excel in training. They aren’t groomed for officer. Everyone gives them a little bit of extra space, a little extra time to respond to commands, and no one rags on them, ever, about anything. Insofar as Stormtroopers can be gentle, they’re gentle with those with that look in their eyes.

There are some ‘troopers who come back from being chosen without damage, without that look in their eyes. But they are few and far between, and FN-2187 does not expect to be one of them. He was, after all, foolish enough to meet an officer’s eyes, to draw attention to himself in an effort to spare Slip. Foolish enough that Captain Phasma herself stopped the officer on his way out of the mess hall, and stars only know what she told him. Maybe she instructed him to beat the foolishness out of FN-2187, or just told him that FN-2187 was too much trouble and no one would miss him.

FN-2187 knows which officer it was, of course, though they are not encouraged to use officers’ names - “sir” is sufficient. And of course the officers, except for Captain Phasma, do not bother to use the Stormtroopers’ designations: “you” or “that one” work quite well enough for their purposes. FN-2187 suspects the officer who chose him has no idea what his designation even _is_ , but FN-2187 knows who _he_ is: Commander Dameron, who defected from the hated Republic and who has been re-organizing the entire TIE fighter corps. Honestly, everyone’s a bit surprised he hadn’t chosen anyone yet. Even General Hux chooses a ‘trooper now and then, if rarely.

(No one knows what goes on in General Hux’s rooms, because the ‘troopers he chooses never return. FN-2187 is faintly grateful that it was not General Hux who chose him. On the other hand, no one knows what _might_ happen in Commander Dameron’s rooms, because Commander Dameron has never chosen anyone before. So. Is it better to walk knowingly to your death, or blindly into unknown danger? FN-2187 would really prefer not to have to consider the question, even if the choice has already been made for him.)

FN-2187 makes it through afternoon training pretty much on autopilot. Thankfully, that afternoon is given over to marksmanship, and even with half his mind thoroughly distracted by thoughts of what might happen after third meal, he is the best shot among his comrades. He doesn’t quite match his usual scores, but he’s still well in the top percentile, so the range master doesn’t do more than give him a perfunctory nod before heading down the range to tell Slip - _again_ \- to keep his aim higher.

And then showers - no one quite meets FN-2187’s eyes - and mess hall - FN-2187 chokes down his protein bar and his slurry and water, appetite entirely nonexistent - and then the rest of FN-2187’s squad heads back to the barracks, and FN-2187 puts his helmet on and takes a deep breath and walks, alone as a ‘trooper is never alone, up through the corridors towards the officers’ quarters.

Everyone knows what it means to see a lone ‘trooper up here, and the pair of ‘troopers guarding the entry into officers’ quarters both give him brief, near-invisible handsigns of support. FN-2187 signs gratitude back at them and marches on, down the corridors past the infantry commanders and the bridge crew to the hallway set aside for the TIE fighter officers. The halls are eerily silent, carpeted as no other areas on the ship are, the walls thoroughly soundproofed, and FN-2187 listens to his near-soundless footsteps and wonders if this is what it’s like to become a ghost, invisible and inaudible and utterly helpless to change anything at all.

The fourth door is marked _Commander Dameron_ in plain black letters, and FN-2187 comes to attention in front of it, takes a long, silent breath, and presses the admit button. The door slides open, and he steps in past the threshold to his fate.

*

Poe isn’t sure what he’s doing. Well, he’s keeping his cover intact, is what he’s doing - if he _didn’t_ choose a Stormtrooper, he’d be in deep shit fairly soon, he knows that. He’s being a good double agent, by successfully imitating a good First Order officer who thinks of Stormtroopers as essentially disposable resources. All perfectly defensible, if anyone in the Resistance asks what the kriff he was _thinking_.

He’s waiting, jittering just a little, for the beautiful defiant Stormtrooper to arrive in his quarters, and he has _no idea_ what he’s going to do after that. Admittedly, just winging it has worked for him before - has worked for him _really well_ before - but this does seem to call for some sort of plan. He just doesn’t have one.

A better double agent, maybe, would be able to take the Stormtrooper to bed and send him back in the morning and go on with life. But Poe has never in his _life_ taken anyone to his bed who didn’t wholeheartedly want to be there, and he doesn’t intend to start now, even if it would be in character for Commander Dameron of the First Order, first-class hardass and defector from the decadent Republic.

And then the door chimes, and Poe is out of time to think.

He stands up as the door slides open, and the Stormtrooper steps in. The door slides silently shut behind him, and Poe realizes suddenly that he’s not even sure it’s the _same_ Stormtrooper as the one he chose.

“Take off your helmet,” he says, a little more brusquely than he meant to, and the Stormtrooper reaches up to obey, revealing the same lovely features and wide, dark, defiant, despairing eyes that made Poe choose him in the first place. Poe takes a deep breath and nods approvingly, and sees the Stormtrooper relax, just a hair.

“What’s your - designation?” Poe asks, catching himself before he can say _name_ , because the First Order doesn’t name its Stormtroopers, the assholes. That was one of the first bits of information Poe sent back, actually, the news that _these_ Stormtroopers are not specially-grown clones but kidnapped children, brainwashed and raised to know nothing but war. Not that clones would have been _good_ , since that would mean the First Order had access to that much cloning technology, but somehow this is so much worse.

“FN-2187, sir,” says the Stormtrooper, and right, that’s what Phasma called him. Poe has something of a hard time remembering all the numbers - they blur together after a while. His TIE pilots are all numbered, too, and Poe has already started giving all of them nicknames. He can’t help it. Some of them already _have_ nicknames, actually; Poe was a little surprised and rather relieved to find that even the First Order can’t keep people from humanizing each _other_. But he can’t exactly ask FN-2187 what his nickname is. An officer wouldn’t. An officer wouldn’t _care_.

But Poe can’t call him by a number. He just - can’t.

“I’m going to call you Finn,” Poe says. It’s probably _not_ the Stormtrooper’s nickname - there are thousands of FNs, after all - but it’s _something_ , at least, a name that Poe can hang on to instead of a faceless, dehumanizing number.

The Stormtrooper nods, and Poe thinks he sees surprise - maybe even a brief moment of happiness - in his expression. Presumably this is not how the Stormtrooper - Finn, now and forevermore, at least in Poe’s mind - thought this evening would go. Well, it’s not how _Poe_ thought it would go, either, mostly because he is flying by the seat of his kriffing pants and has _no idea_ what to do next.

“Captain Phasma ordered me not to damage you,” he finds himself saying, and watches startlement wash over Finn’s face. “I mean, I wouldn’t anyway, but - I like my head firmly attached. So. Um. Don’t - worry?” Poe realizes exactly how stupid that sounds the instant he says it, and wishes desperately that he could reach out and snatch the words out of the air before they reached Finn’s ears. Since that’s not possible, he just waits anxiously to see what reaction he’s going to get.

Finn blinks at him for a long, dreadful moment, and then says, carefully, “Yes, sir.”

Poe wants very badly to swear, and bites his tongue instead. What did he expect, that a Stormtrooper would trust him just because he gave him a nickname and empty words? Well, yes, he did sort of expect that, because that’s one of Poe’s great strengths, that people _trust_ him, just based on his charming smile and his easy chatter. It’s one of the reasons he’s _here_ , in this stifling uniform on this dreadful spaceship, teaching TIE pilots how not to die. People trust him. People follow him. It’s a gift and a curse that he shares with his own hero, with General Leia herself, and he’s using it to fight the good fight, and now it’s failing him.

“Sit down,” he says at last, and sits down himself in one of the stiff uncomfortable chairs that First Order officers are given. Good for posture, or something. Finn sits, carefully, in the other, which creaks a little under the weight of the armor. Poe watches him for a while. Stormtroopers aren’t taught to conceal their emotions - well, they’ve all got helmets on most of the day anyhow - and there’s apprehension and confusion playing across Finn’s face. Poe really can’t blame him.

“How long do officers usually keep Stormtroopers, when they choose them?” he asks at last.

Finn startles a little. “As long as they like, sir,” he replies, which isn’t helpful. Poe thinks over the few stories he’s heard - which officers send their chosen Stormtroopers back to the ranks, which ones send them to the medbay, which ones send them right to the morgue - and winces. Okay, not actually a useful question anyway.

A real First Order officer probably keeps his chosen Stormtrooper at _least_ a few hours. A full night is more probable, given the sort of fun a real First Order officer probably likes to have. Poe glances back at the narrow bunk which is considered appropriate for an officer in this _glorious_ resurrected empire and grimaces. Fitting two bodies into that is going to be - interesting. But then, presumably most First Order officers aren’t exactly _sleeping_ when they do this.

And come to think of it, they probably don’t bother to share the bed, even if they _do_ sleep. The floor is good enough for a Stormtrooper, after all. The thought makes Poe want to swear and spit to get the bad taste out of his mouth, but he doesn’t. No point spitting on his own floor, after all, or scaring Finn even more than he already is.

“Right,” he says, and stands. “So. The fact of the matter is I don’t particularly want to - to do anything to or with you, okay? I just needed to choose _someone_. I need to work on some things. Get some sleep.” He gestures vaguely at the bed, and turns to pick up his datapad, deliberately not looking at Finn.

There’s a long pause, and then, slowly and with many dubious looks at Poe, Finn strips out of his armor, leaving him in a plain black undersuit, and lies down on the bed. He’s so tense Poe’s surprised he isn’t twitching, and though he closes his eyes Poe can tell he’s not asleep. Poe shakes his head and buries himself in paperwork - the First Order generates _endless_ paperwork - until, hours later, he hears Finn’s breathing even out properly into sleep.

And then he makes himself a little nest in the corner with a spare blanket, sets a mental alarm for four hours, and tries his best to get some sleep of his own. A night on the floor won’t kill him, after all.

*

FN-2187 wakes up very confused. It’s the right _time_ for reveille - FN-2187 hasn’t overslept in nearly fifteen years - but there’s no blaring trumpet over the speakers. FN-2187 blinks up at the ceiling for a long minute and then the previous evening comes rushing back.

He’s in officers’ quarters - in _Commander Dameron’s bed_. Commander Dameron gave him a name and told him to sleep and didn’t even lay a single hand on him.

Commander Dameron is, in fact, still sitting at the table like he was last night when FN-2187 finally lost the battle against sleep, bent over a datapad and muttering softly to himself. Did he spend the whole night like that? If so, why did he even _bother_ to summon FN-2187 here? _I just needed to choose someone_ , FN-2187 remembers Commander Dameron saying, but that doesn’t make sense - officers don’t _have_ to choose ‘troopers. Stormtroopers are the weapons, and officers are the hands that wield them, that’s what every lesson FN-2187 has ever had has said.

For the first time, though, FN-2187 thinks, _But whose hands are they?_

He shakes the odd thought off and sits up, warily, keeping half an eye on Commander Dameron while he puts his armor back on as quietly as he can. When he’s wearing everything but his helmet, he steps to the side of the desk and comes to attention. “Sir,” he says quietly, hoping that Commander Dameron will not be angry at the disruption.

Commander Dameron looks up and blinks at him, seeming almost startled to see FN-2187 there. “Oh,” he says, “you - have training, don’t you.”

“Yes, sir,” FN-2187 says.

“Go,” Commander Dameron says, almost gently. FN-2187 is caught by that odd tone, by the strange softness of Commander Dameron’s eyes, by the un-regulation stubble along the line of Commander Dameron’s jaw and the way his hair is mussed where he has been running his hands through it. For a moment, FN-2187 wants something he can’t even name.

The moment passes quickly, though. FN-2187 salutes Commander Dameron, and puts his helmet on, and leaves.

He misses first meal, but that’s no great matter; Stormtroopers are trained to do without meals when necessary. It’s not the first time he’s been hungry during hand-to-hand, and it won’t be the last. But it’s during hand-to-hand that Zeroes calls him Eight-Seven, the only nickname FN-2187 has ever been given by his comrades, and FN-2187 astonishes himself by thinking, _I prefer Finn._

Stormtroopers don’t have preferences, so he doesn’t say anything, just tosses Zeroes over his hip, form perfect as usual, and then offers his squadmate a hand up. But even if he _could_ tell Zeroes what he wants - could say the name Commander Dameron gave him and have it used - Finn’s not sure that he would. It’s somehow warm and pleasant in his chest, the knowledge that he has a _name_ now, that someone cared enough to give him that, and he doesn’t want to share it. For right now, Commander Dameron and Finn are the only people in the universe who know Finn’s name, and he holds that knowledge close and hides it. It’s _his_ , the first thing that has ever really been his in his whole life, and for that alone it’s more precious than anything Finn’s ever known before.


	2. Chapter 2

Poe leaves it a full month before he goes back to the mess hall. It’s dangerous, he knows, to wait so long - dangerous to deny the First Order this particular collar about his neck. But he remembers Finn’s blank obedience and it makes him shiver; he asks questions and listens to the stories and learns, unhappily, about the sorts of things Finn probably expected to happen, and with every story he grows sicker. It solidifies his already diamond-hard determination to destroy the First Order and all its works, but he didn’t really need the help.

But while he’s here, he has to play the part, and so he strides into the mess hall and makes a beeline for Finn, taps him on the shoulder and orders him to Poe’s rooms that night. There’s no point in having to explain that Poe doesn’t want anything to _two_ Stormtroopers, not when even one is an unconscionable risk. But Finn hasn’t told anyone, apparently, about what happened or didn’t happen in Poe’s rooms, and so Poe hopes desperately that a second such night will also go unmentioned.

Finn shows up at his door promptly after dinner again, and takes his helmet off without prompting as the door seals shut behind him. Poe nods to him.

“I still don’t want to do anything to or with you, Finn,” he says quietly. “You can get some sleep.”

“Sir,” says Finn, sounding troubled, “I don’t understand.”

It has been a very long day, and for a terrible moment Poe _wants_ to say, _It doesn’t matter if you understand or not,_ but then he realizes - Finn did not say ‘Yes, sir,’ did not obey blindly when an officer gave an order. _That_ tells Poe that Finn has begun to trust him, at least a little, and that trust - that trust must not be broken.

“I have a great deal of paperwork to do,” he says, instead of snapping. “That will take up much of my night.”

Finn takes a deep breath, clearly gathering his courage for something, and says tentatively, “I could - help? If you wanted me to, sir.”

Poe blinks, but - _best of his class_ , Phasma called Finn. “Sure,” Poe says, shrugging, and pulls a spare datapad over. “Sit down, and I’ll show you what needs to be done.”

Finn learns _fast_ , Poe discovers, and he’s quick and accurate and precise as he fills the paperwork out, tapping away industriously at the datapad, with a frown of concentration on his lovely face that Poe would call adorable if it weren’t matched so oddly with the white armor of a Stormtrooper.

Poe himself takes the more complicated forms, the ones that require a detailed knowledge of the TIE pilots and their capabilities rather than the simple ticking of boxes, but with the simpler forms in Finn’s capable hands, he’s actually done well before he expected to be. It’s late, but Poe has stayed up later for the sake of a good story or a beautiful bedmate or a complicated bit of machinery. In other circumstances, if the lovely young man beside him really _were_ his lover, Poe would not mind staying up a little later to enjoy his company. But that is not the case.

He leans back and stretches, and grins at Finn. “A job well done, and I thank you,” he says, and Finn smiles broadly, clearly pleased with the praise - and then his gaze slides past Poe to the empty bed, and the smile falls away to leave only apprehension in its wake. Poe winces a little.

“It’s late,” he says, “and we both need to rise early tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

Finn says, softly, “Yes, sir,” and rises to take his armor off, and lies down, cramming himself against the wall to leave enough space for another body beside him. Poe ducks into the refresher and takes advantage of one of the _other_ privileges granted to officers: a private water-shower, with as much hot water as anyone could desire. He takes his time, humming to himself as he washes, and by the time he emerges, clean and smelling faintly of the sharp scent of the standard-issue shampoo, Finn is snoring softly. Poe can’t afford to be sore and stiff in the morning - he’s leading a training fight with live fire authorized, he needs to be at the absolute top of his game - so he lies down beside Finn, leaving a careful inch between them, and closes his eyes, and tells himself very firmly to sleep.

*

Finn wakes up to the knowledge that it’s reveille and there’s someone else in the bed with him. The first is normal, though the lack of trumpets isn’t; the second is so strange as to be briefly stunning. Stormtroopers _don’t_ share beds. It’s a sign of weakness, and earns harsh punishment.

He looks carefully to the side and breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees Commander Dameron lying there, eyes closed and mouth slightly open in sleep. Right. He’s in Commander Dameron’s quarters again, and he helped the commander with his paperwork - which was actually sort of interesting, since Finn’s never seen the sort of paperwork officers do before - and then the commander ordered him to sleep again.

Finn can never tell anyone about this. The first time - he didn’t tell anyone about the first time because he was too distracted by the possession of a name of his own. But this time, he knows, he doesn’t dare say anything. If his comrades knew that he has walked twice into officers’ quarters and twice been spared the pain and death that wait for ‘troopers there, he would be hated instead of merely disdained. He is the best of his class, he knows, and so he is envied; he is not like the others, and so he is not welcomed. But this good luck, this _astonishing_ stroke of fortune, would guarantee their hatred. What has Finn done, after all, that he should live unharmed when other ‘troopers, better liked than he, walk into officers’ quarters and never return?

But since he can’t tell, he will be set apart again. Usually, those ‘troopers who survive tell their fellows - in whispers, perhaps, in broken phrases, in hints and gestures and bleak, blunt words that hurt to hear - what they have lived through, so that the next to be chosen will be prepared. Even those ‘troopers who can barely speak will tell their comrades everything they can. But Finn can’t tell.

It’s not like he had anyone’s friendship to lose, but if he’d ever _hoped_ to have friends, this will destroy that hope. Finn almost wants to hate Commander Dameron for that, and then he thinks about that for a moment and huffs a tiny, silent laugh. Oh yes, hating Commander Dameron for _not_ hurting him, there’s a great plan.

Commander Dameron opens his eyes and looks at Finn, and for a moment he looks almost startled, like he didn’t think Finn would still be here. His hair is a messy halo around his head, and his eyes are dark and soft with sleep, and his lips quirk into a tiny smile after a moment. Finn is caught again by that odd feeling, like he wants to lean in closer for some reason.

The moment is broken by Commander Dameron rolling to his feet in an easy motion, and offering Finn a hand up. Finn takes it on instinct and lets himself be pulled up out of bed, and then he realizes, suddenly, that this is the first time they have touched. Commander Dameron’s hand is warm and there are calluses on his palm, and the way his fingers wrap around Finn’s wrist, the way his own wrist fits neatly into the curve of Finn’s hand, is strangely pleasant. Finn doesn’t touch many people, outside of hand-to-hand training - none of the other ‘troopers _want_ him to touch them - and he sort of wants to stand here for a while, holding Commander Dameron’s hand and smiling into his eyes. They’re the same height, Finn realizes, when Finn isn’t wearing his thick-soled armored boots. Commander Dameron’s dark eyes are exactly level with Finn’s own.

Commander Dameron lets go of Finn’s hand and smiles, broad and cheerful, and says, “Thanks for the help with the paperwork, Finn.”

Finn kind of likes the way his name sounds when Commander Dameron says it. No one else has _ever_ said it, except Finn himself in the silence of the barracks after lights-out, breathing it to himself so softly that even Zeroes, in the bunk above Finn’s, can’t hear a thing.

“You’re welcome, sir,” Finn says quietly. “If - if you ever want help with it again - I -” he doesn’t quite know how to phrase the offer, how to say, _Last night was strangely pleasant and I would like to learn more about paperwork and the way officers do things_ , but from the way Commander Dameron’s smile widens, it seems he got some of that across anyway.

“I’ll ask for you the next time I’ve got a long night’s work to wade through,” Commander Dameron says, nodding. “But you should go - I’ve kept you too long already, I suspect.”

“Yes, sir,” Finn says, and snaps his armor on as fast as he can, and heads for the training halls at quick-march time.

*

Poe should not choose the same Stormtrooper three times in a row. That’s veering dangerously towards favoritism, and a favorite bed-partner is such an easy tool to use against someone that it’s not even funny. But Finn is _intriguing_ , and Poe is sometimes an idiot. And anyway, explaining that all he wants is sleep to a different Stormtrooper would be so incredibly awkward. And he _does_ have a lot of paperwork to do, and he _did_ tell Finn he’d ask for him again - practically a promise, that was - and he can come up with half a dozen more excuses but the plain truth of it is that he wants to see Finn again. The bright, clever, defiant, lovely Stormtrooper is the most interesting thing to happen to him since he got to the First Order, apart from the opportunity to actually fly a TIE fighter.

So he ventures down to the mess hall and taps Finn on the shoulder and tries not to smile when Finn looks up to meet his eyes, because officers in the First Order _don’t_ smile, they look constantly constipated. Admittedly the damned liquid shipboard diet has a lot to do with that.

And that night he hands Finn a datapad as soon as the other man sits down, and grins to himself when Finn sets to work immediately, tapping through the screens without hesitation. Poe himself has plenty to occupy him that _isn’t_ watching the handsomest Stormtrooper in the First Order do paperwork, and he’s thoroughly engrossed in his own work by the time Finn finishes. He looks up, though, when Finn clears his throat softly.

“What - what are you doing, sir?” Finn asks tentatively, nodding to the holomap hovering above Poe’s datapad. Poe leans back in his chair and grins.

“Strategy and tactics for my pilots,” he explains. “See, I’m making wargames for them - setting up the enemies in various configurations so that my pilots can practice in the simulators against as many possible situations as I can come up with. That way, when we encounter it in the real world, we’ll know what to do.”

Finn nods, frowning slightly. “We drill like this,” he says, leaning forward to peer more closely at the holomap. “But we never see - only the officers see the maps.”

“Well, here, let me show you how this works,” Poe says, and leans forward to poke his stylus into the map. “Here’s the planet that we’re defending in this one, and these are our forces, and these are the Resistance’s. Their X-Wings are a bit sturdier and have better armaments, but our TIE fighters are more maneuverable and faster. So we have some advantages, and they have some advantages. My job is figuring out how to make _our_ advantages outweigh _theirs_.”

“Show me,” Finn says, eyes bright, and Poe flicks the switch to let the wargame play out, white lights for TIE fighters swirling around orange X-Wing lights. Finn watches it intently, and when the battle is over - the First Order wins, of course - he leans back a little, and thinks for a long moment, and then says, “I think I see. But what if the X-Wings had gone _down_ instead of right?”

Poe blinks at him, then at the holomap. “ _Interesting_ ,” he says slowly, and shoves the datapad across to Finn. “Here. Show me what you mean.”

Finn nods and bends eagerly to work.

*

It’s very late, so late it’s probably technically early, when Commander Dameron leans back from the table and runs a hand through his hair again. “You have a gift for this sort of thing,” he tells Finn, grinning broadly. “I mean, I’m no slouch, but I would _never_ have thought of that last one, with the slingshot around the planet - that was _genius_ , buddy.”

Finn smiles back, the praise making him feel warm all through. None of the other officers or trainers are _ever_ so generous with their praise - the best Finn’s ever gotten before is an approving nod or a clap on the shoulder. Having Commander Dameron smile at him, wide and sweet, and praise him so extravagantly feels _good_.

Then Commander Dameron looks down at the datapad and catches sight of the time, and winces. “Shit, it’s late,” he says. “I’m sorry. You’re not going to be a happy camper tomorrow.”

Finn’s not sure what a happy camper is, but he can extrapolate. “It’s - alright,” he says, a little awkwardly, not sure how to deal with an officer _apologizing_ to him. “The trainers go easy on us after we’ve been - chosen. If we come back.” He bites his tongue as soon as the words escape; he’s too tired to censor himself properly, and he _knows_ that saying that, that implying _anything_ an officer could do to a Stormtrooper might not be appropriate, was wrong.

But Commander Dameron only winces. “Good to know,” he says. “Get some sleep anyway. No point making tomorrow any harder than it’s gonna be.”

Finn stands up and starts stripping out of his armor, and he’s down to just the last finicky catches on the greaves when the late hour and the odd thoughts about Commander Dameron’s smile make him look up at where Commander Dameron is bent over the datapad again and say, knowing even as he does so that it’s a _bad_ kriffing idea, “Did you want - anything else, sir?”

Commander Dameron jumps like he’s been shocked, and turns to look down at Finn, and his face does something complicated that Finn can’t read at all. Then he sighs, and sags, and rubs a hand over his face and into his hair, messing it up worse than ever. Finn sort of wants to get his own fingers into it and tidy it, which is an incredibly strange impulse. But then again, none of the ‘troopers have hair any longer than Finn’s own, so maybe it’s just the appeal of novelty.

“You know I came from the Republic,” Commander Dameron says quietly, and Finn nods, confused as he’s ever been. What does _that_ have to do with anything? Or - do the decadent weaklings of the Republic have even worse habits than the officers of the First Order? Has Commander Dameron been holding off because even the _officers_ would not be able to shrug off the terrible things he wants to do to Finn? Finn’s breath starts to come a little short, and he controls it with an effort. This is _not_ the time to panic.

“I guess - I guess some of their rules stuck,” Commander Dameron says, shrugging. “I don’t take people to my bed who don’t want to be there.”

Finn blinks up from where he’s still half-kneeling with his hands on the catches to his greaves, trying to make that last sentence make sense. “Stormtroopers aren’t people, sir,” he says at last, and flicks the catches open, catching the greave before it can hit the floor with a practiced motion and stacking it neatly on top of the rest of his armor.

“Maybe Stormtroopers aren’t,” Commander Dameron says, standing and holding a hand out to Finn, who takes it and lets Commander Dameron pull him to his feet. “But _you_ are, Finn.”

Finn blinks at Commander Dameron, fingers still curled around the officer’s wrist. “Oh,” is all he can think of to say.

Commander Dameron smiles, an oddly sad expression, and squeezes Finn’s hand for just a moment before he lets go, stepping away. “So get some sleep,” he says. “You’re - in here, at least, you’re safe with me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Poe has no idea what _possessed_ him to promise safety to a Stormtrooper. Well, okay, that’s not true. What possessed him is that Finn has, in a scant few nights and even less conversation, become dear to him. Poe has always loved easily, had room in his heart for almost everyone he meets - his pilots, his friends, his lovers, his family, he adores them all, collects more people to adore like some people collect pittins. He’s already collected his TIE pilots, but that’s alright, that’s actually part of the grand plan. He knew _that_ was going to happen, and warned the General about it so she could work it into her strategy. But a Stormtrooper was _never_ part of the strategy. Poe is going to be _leaving_ at some point - how the hell is he supposed to take a Stormtrooper with him? He can’t, obviously.

But how the hell is he supposed to leave gorgeous, defiant, genius-clever Finn behind?

Any other officer _would_ probably have maimed or killed Finn, just for the defiance in his eyes, just for the instinct to protect his squadmate. Any other officer who happens to choose Finn, in the years to come, probably _will_ kill him, unless Phasma can fast-track him through to officer himself, which - Finn is young, hasn’t even been out on a combat deployment yet. (Poe _definitely_ doesn’t have a little subprogram on his datapad that tracks FN-2187’s duty stations. Of course not. That would be downright foolish of him.) It’ll be at _least_ five years before Finn can be promoted into even the lowest officer ranks, the dubious safety thereof, and in the meantime - there _is_ a sort of code of courtesy that means no other officer will choose Finn while he’s so clearly Poe’s favorite, but once Poe is gone, maybe even _because_ Poe is gone, Poe can think of three, maybe four officers just off the top of his head who would be more than pleased to destroy such a beautiful person as Finn for their own sick gratification.

Finn is asleep already, squished onto one side of the bunk, with space for Poe beside him. Poe lies down, because he _does_ need to sleep, he’s not as young as he used to be and tomorrow he’s going to be using some of those new wargames Finn suggested, but he can’t make his mind stop whirling, spinning out plan after plan for a way to bring Finn with him when he leaves. Every one of them founders on one of two problems: first, how to explain that he wants to bring a single Stormtrooper, even if it is his favorite one, out on maneuvers? It’s not like there’s enough room in even a two-seater TIE fighter for him to _do_ anything about having his favorite along. And second, how to convince Finn to come with him? FN-2187 is a Stormtrooper’s Stormtrooper, his assessments in the highest percentile every time, not a single black mark on his record. If he knew what Poe was planning, he’d probably report Poe himself, get promoted for it.

It’s impossible. But Poe has done the impossible before. If he can just _think_ of the right solution -

He falls asleep without meaning to, plans turning into miserable dreams in which he tries over and over again to pull the helmet from Finn’s head and fails every time.

*

Finn isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting when his squad marches down onto the Jakku sands. Whatever it is, it isn’t the chaos that greets him, the fire and screams, the fleeing animals and people. They were told, on the ship, that these people are enemies of the First Order, that their actions are subversive and destructive to the organization which will make the galaxy safe once more, but these don’t look like enemies to Finn. They look like terrified civilians. None of them even have any useful _weapons_ \- they’re fighting blaster-armed Stormtroopers with sticks and bare hands.

Two of the Stormtroopers haul an old man out to the center of the cleared space where Kylo Ren waits, forcing him to his knees. Kylo Ren speaks to him, briefly, takes something from around his throat with a black-gloved hand, and then, when the old man speaks, draws his lightsaber and cuts the man down in a single vicious slash.

A young woman comes shooting out of one of the tents where she has apparently been hiding, staff as tall as she is in her hands, and before anyone can move she has struck down the two Stormtroopers who were holding the old man, staff leaving dents in their helmets that Finn _knows_ will have killed them - not that he can really blame her for her blazing anger, given what she has just seen - and then swung around to strike at Kylo Ren. He leaps backwards, landing gracelessly, before her staff can connect, and gestures curtly with one hand. The woman collapses like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Take her onto the ship,” Kylo Ren commands, and Finn, as the closest Stormtrooper, holsters his blaster and picks up the young woman’s limp form. Something makes him take her staff, too - she is clinging to it even now, her knuckles white with tension, and Finn tucks it gently across her chest and carries her into the shuttle.

He pauses at the top of the ramp to watch the other Stormtroopers slaughter the remaining villagers without hesitation, and the unfired blaster at his hip feels heavy as it never has before. If he had been among them - would he have fired? He did not kill the woman who fled from him, he did not shoot the animals in their terror, as his comrades did. Could he have shot into that panicked mass of people?

What other option is there?

He looks down at the woman in his arms and retreats slowly further into the shuttle. His mind is whirling, running through the possible tactics of this situation the way Commander Dameron taught him, the way Commander Dameron praised him for. He could try to run right now, through the chaos and the blaster fire, carrying this woman to safety, but what safety is there on a desert planet with the full force of the First Order at their heels? He could try to steal the shuttle and _fly_ to safety, but Stormtroopers aren’t taught piloting, and in any case the _Finalizer_ would shoot them down before they got off the ground.

If he wants to flee - if he wants to _flee_ , kriff, what is he _thinking_ , the First Order’s reach stretches across the galaxy, where would he go? But he can’t _stay_ \- if he wants to flee, if he wants to take this woman to safety, he’ll have to wait till they’re on board the _Finalizer_ and he can find a pilot. That’s what he really needs, a pilot.

Finn has a sudden, visceral desire for Commander Dameron, pilot and commander of pilots, and then mentally kicks himself. Commander Dameron is loyal to the First Order; he would kill Finn himself for such thoughts. No, going to Commander Dameron would be almost as foolish as trying to run away in the first place.

If Finn wants to get out, he’s going to have to do it himself.

*

Poe is actually very good at self-discipline when he needs to be. This is a good thing, because otherwise there is absolutely no way he could have sat through a meeting in which Kylo Ren and General Armitage Hux gloated about the map to Skywalker and the strange Force-sensitive girl which are now in their possession and not gone into a screaming berserk rage and tried to kill both of them. An entire village, slaughtered so that Kylo Ren can finish what he started all that years ago and kill the last Jedi - and a girl, some poor innocent who has just watched her entire community die and then been dragged onto this ship of horrors to be - Poe doesn’t even want to think about what’s going to happen to her.

But it hasn’t happened _yet_ , because first Kylo Ren has to gloat and then he has to go and report to his master, like a good attack dog, and so Poe has time. Not _much_ time, admittedly - not as much time as he’d really like to have - but enough, if he’s quick and clever and unfairly lucky. And he’s here, on this mission, on this dreadful ship, _because_ he is quick and clever and unfairly lucky, so...he just has to move the timeline up a little. He _has_ been planning this for months, after all. Almost everything is ready to go. Adding a theft and a rescue in is going to be difficult, but he’ll do it.

He won’t be able to get Finn, though. That - that hurts, bone-deep and aching. He won’t be able to bring Finn to freedom when he runs.

The map and the girl are actually being kept in the same room - Poe takes a moment to bless the idiocy of his enemies - so he only needs to detour a _little_ \- okay, a lot, nearly halfway across the Star Destroyer - off of the path to the TIE fighters. They’re all assembled, the pilots he thinks will come with him - okay, is very nearly _positive_ will come with him - the ones who aren’t the First Order’s pilots anymore, but Poe’s. The ones who have come to follow him not because he is an officer but because they trust him. The ones who are as much his as Rapier Squadron is, the ones he’s proud to lead.

There are two Stormtroopers on duty inside the room where the girl and the map are being kept. Poe pauses as the door slides shut behind him, hand on his blaster, wondering what in hell he’s going to say, or whether he should just start shooting while they’re confused.

And then the one on the right says, “Commander Dameron?” and it’s _Finn_ , oh kriff, it’s Finn, Poe can’t - Poe can’t shoot him, can’t do this, not even for the sake of the Resistance.

“Finn,” Poe says, realizing even as he says it that he shouldn’t use Finn’s name, though really - what does it matter? He’s either going to be dead or gone within the hour.

The other Stormtrooper looks back and forth between Poe and Finn, something in the tilt of his helmet suggesting confusion.

“Finn,” Poe says quietly, “please get out of the way. I don’t want to shoot you.”

Finn looks from Poe to the other Stormtrooper to the unconscious woman strapped to the interrogation chair, and then his shoulders go back and he draws his blaster faster than Poe can follow and shoots the other Stormtrooper squarely in the chest without a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m with you, Commander Dameron,” he says firmly. “Let’s go.”

Poe’s pretty sure his face is a picture, but he snatches up the data chip holding the map and tucks it deep into his pocket as Finn unsnaps the restraints holding the girl and picks her up gently in his arms, grabbing the long staff from beside the chair as he does. “Where to?” Finn asks.

“TIE fighter bay,” Poe says. “With a quick detour to the secondary bridge so I can mess with the ventral cannon controls.”

Finn chuckles softly, appreciatively, and follows Poe at a crisp quick-march as they leave the room. Poe keeps his head up and his back straight and tries to look like it’s any other day in the First Order officer corps, like he’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to do. Finn, behind him, is as silent and stoic as a Stormtrooper should be, the clanging of his boots on the echoing floors a metallic counterpoint to Poe’s frantic heartbeat.

This could all go pear-shaped in an instant, but if it works - if it works, Poe will burn incense to every one of Testor’s eight thousand lucky gods.

*

Finn waits to one side while Commander Dameron beckons the TIE pilots over to them, in the little corner of the boat bay closest to the vast force field where the stars shine through. The woman is still limp in his arms - Finn wants to shake Kylo Ren and demand to know what he _did_ to her, but that would not end well for anyone - and Finn’s frankly not sure how they’re going to get off the _Finalizer_ , but apparently Commander Dameron has a plan.

Finn’s contemplating the TIE fighter and wondering how they work when the woman twitches in his arms and then begins to struggle. Finn tightens his grip involuntarily, and she snarls and twists harder.

“Hey, no, wait,” Finn says desperately, trying not to hurt her while still not letting her go. “This is a rescue.”

She goes still, staring at him incredulously. Finn winces behind his helmet. “We’re - we’re escaping,” he says weakly. “I think we’re going to the Resistance.”

“ _You’re_ with the Resistance?” the woman says.

“Not...yet?” Finn says. “But I think Commander Dameron is. Can you stand?”

“Yes,” she says, and Finn lets her legs down carefully, keeping an arm around her back until she’s steady on her feet. She takes her staff from him with a nod of thanks, using it to brace herself upright. She’s not that much shorter than he is, but she’s thin, scrawnier even than Slip, all whipcord muscle and bone.

(Finn can’t think about Slip right now, about the squadmates he’s leaving behind, the comrades who would shoot him without hesitation for what he is doing, what he is about to do.)

Commander Dameron turns away from the TIE pilots to see the woman on her feet beside Finn, and crosses the space between them in a few easy strides, holding out one hand to her. “I’m Poe Dameron,” he says when she takes it hesitantly. “If I put you in a gunner’s seat, can you shoot?”

“Yes,” the woman says, nodding.

“Alright then,” Commander Dameron says. “You’re with Flips here. Finn, you’re with me. Let’s do this thing.”

Finn’s never been in a TIE fighter before - it’s not something that Stormtroopers are trained in - and he’s briefly baffled by the control panel in front of him.

“Same principle as a blaster,” Commander Dameron says as the TIE’s engines start to whine into full life. “Toggle on the left switches between missiles, cannons, and mag pulse, site on the right is for aiming, triggers to fire. You’ve got this - anyone with your range scores can handle a TIE’s guns.”

“Yes, sir,” Finn says absently, toggling quickly between the various things he can fire. “This is complicated, but - I think I can do it.”

“I’m sure you can,” Commander Dameron says warmly, and Finn tears his helmet off so he can see better, grin hurting his cheeks. This is insane, they’re all going to die, but Commander Dameron thinks he can do it, so Finn will.

And does.

*

Poe puts the TIE fighter down on the D’Qar landing field as lightly as a feather, the other eleven TIEs touching down behind him in perfect order, and leaps out as soon as the engines are off. BB-8 is waiting for him - the one brief transmission Poe managed to get off before they left got through, then - and Poe drops to his knees and flings his arms around his droid. “Beebee, buddy,” he says hoarsely, as the little droid beeps and whirrs its joy at the top of its speakers. “I have _missed_ you.”

Someone clears their throat softly after a few minutes, and Poe looks up to see General Leia looking down at him fondly. Poe knows he’s blushing a little as he stands up, but - BB-8 is important to him. He’s not going to be ashamed of being glad to see his oldest friend.

“General, ma’am,” he says, nodding to her. “I’ve brought you - um - let me see - quite a lot of intelligence on the First Order, the lost map to Luke Skywalker, twelve TIE fighters with eleven pilots, a girl from Jakku who I suspect is Force-sensitive, and a Stormtrooper who’d like to defect and has the best tactical mind I’ve ever encountered.” He pauses a moment. “I think that’s everything?”

General Leia covers her eyes with one hand and laughs silently for a long moment, shoulders shaking. “Dameron, you make the rest of us look bad,” she says at last, letting her hand fall and stepping forward to hug him, brief and hard and warm. “Introduce me, you overachiever.”

Poe grins down at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, laughter in his voice that he can’t quite suppress, and turns to look at the men and women behind him, all of them wearing near-identical worried expressions. “These are Flips and Sauce and Deadshot and Reckless and Boots and Foureyes and Cloudy and Crash and Ellie and Spinout and Rath, and this is - I’m very sorry, I didn’t get your name earlier -”

“Rey,” says the young woman with the staff.

“Rey, from Jakku,” Poe says, nodding, and then, knowing the General will hear the pride and affection in his voice and not quite caring, “and this is Finn.”

“It is my pleasure to welcome all of you to the Resistance,” General Leia says solemnly to the TIE pilots and Rey and Finn. “And Commander Dameron - welcome home.”

End part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will update Thursday and Saturday.
> 
> I am on tumblr as imaginarygolux; drop on by!


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